


Carving a Niche

by mmouse15



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-06
Updated: 2019-12-07
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:35:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21698590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mmouse15/pseuds/mmouse15
Summary: When you're an occult or ethereal being, how do you find your spot in the world?
Comments: 4
Kudos: 7





	1. Aziraphale - Books

**Author's Note:**

> I was given two prompts for Good Omens, and I thought they were quite fun. So here they are, just for you.

[](http://s232.photobucket.com/user/mmouse15/media/20191206_153540_zpsa40trdri.jpg.html)

The Scene: A musty warehouse, with the smell of the Thames strongly pervading the air. Shelves line the walls and are placed in racks through out. Books, scrolls, and bundled stacks of paper are on the shelves, which have their lowest shelves raised a good four feet above the dank floor of the warehouse.

"Thank you for helping me, Crowley. I do appreciate it," Aziraphale said, looking around the room, beaming.

"I know how much your books mean to you, angel," Crowley replied. He miracled away the mud and dust that coated both of them, then brushed a speck off his hat and put it on his head. 

"Yes, well," Aziraphale started, staring around at the musty warehouse. He'd had to use a minor miracle to stop the leaking from the Thames. Crowley had done the big miracle of drying all his books, manuscripts, and scrolls and retrieving them from the rotting that had been going on.

"The Thames, angel, is not kind to your books," Crowley said, dusting his hands off before pulling on his gloves. 

"Well, yes, but I don't know where else to put them," Aziraphale replied, wringing his hands, turning around to look at the entire room. 

Crowley looked at him strangely. "For heaven's...hell's sake, angel, why don't you go into trade?" 

"I beg your pardon?" 

"Look, it's a changing world out there. People are doing different things. We don't need to pretend to be part of the upper class. You could go to Soho, find a suitable storefront, open a bookstore and store your books there. Soho is away from the river, you can enchant the place to hold ALL your books, and you can simply live above the bookshop," Crowley said, flinging an arm out and waving it as he spoke. 

"Oh, but," Aziraphale said, "don't bookshops SELL books?" 

Crowley looked at him as if he'd lost his senses. "You're an occult being, just wave your hand and make them go away." 

"Ethereal, thank you, and what an excellent idea! Thank you, Crowley." Aziraphale beamed at him. 

"You're welcome, angel." 

Aziraphale walked over to Crowley and linked arms with him, "Would you like to join me for tea? Claridge's puts on a good spread."

"Why, yes, thank you, I would. That sounds delightful," Crowley replied, spinning his cane around to use it properly.


	2. Crowley - Plants

[](http://s232.photobucket.com/user/mmouse15/media/20191206_153745_zpsrfanwjvq.jpg.html)

"Talking to plants? Whatever for?" Crowley asked.

"Well, they do say that talking to plants makes them grow better," Aziraphale offered.

"Grow better?" Crowley said, "What, you don't think my plants are growing well?"

"My dear Crowley, I haven't seen your plants. I imagine they are quite verdant, because you always seem to have the best of everything. I'm simply offering a way for you to have even nicer looking plants, since you don't seem to be losing interest in horticulture," Aziraphale replied, scattering bread crumbs for the ducks in St. James Park.

"Humph," Crowley said, shifting slightly.

"Oh, for...people's sake," Aziraphale huffed, "It just seems to be a hobby that you enjoy, and I thought I would offer some of the latest ideas."

"Angel, you know as well as I do that talking to plants doesn't DO anything for them. Using minor miracles makes them grow better," Crowley told him.

"Well, yes, but we do need to make the attempt to fit in," Aziraphale said.

Crowley looked down at himself, dressed in the latest fashion, and then at Aziraphale, who hadn't changed his look from the 1870s. He still wore the same vest and coat, although he no longer wore the gloves and hat, or carried the cane that had been in fashion back then.

In reply to Aziraphale, Crowley drawled, "Of course. You're quite right. We need to blend in."

"Quite," Aziraphale agreed. "Tea?"

"Always," Crowley said, and they wondered out of the park.

That evening, Crowley entered his spartan apartment and made his way into the only room that had any hint of softness to it. He held a plant mister, the latest fad for houseplants, in his hand.

"Aziraphale thinks I should talk to you, that it would help me blend in better," Crowley began, squeezing the handle of the mister and methodically moving it over his plants. "As such, here is me talking to you. GROW BETTER!" he roared, and the plants all quivered and grew at least two inches.

Crowley stepped back and smiled, a truly scary sight.

"Well, what do you know? Aziraphale is right."

He turned on his heel and left the room, whistling, leaving a large group of trembling plants behind him.


End file.
